You don't wanna know
by ineedtogetalife
Summary: Lies and deception have been known to destroy the Winchesters. However, it may take a lie to keep one of them breathing. DEATH FIC. Set after season 9
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Guess who's back and trying to write again! This idea just came to me, and I really wanted to try and write it. Emphasis on try. I apologise if this story is crap, or not to your taste. I haven't had anyone proof read this, so any mistakes are purley my own.**

**I own none of the characters, they belong to Kripke. Lucky bastard**

**Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Swearing, blood and violence**

Cold Oak. That's all he could think of. The two situations were practically identical; the injury, the weapon. This time however, there were two major changes:

Sam died in Castiel's arms.

Dean was the one who'd killed him.

Considering his heritage and his age, there were only a few times in his long life where Castiel had felt completely and utterly helpless. This was one of them.

Pinned up against the dungeon wall, he could only watch as Sam was backed into a corner by the demon; his weapon long since gone in the struggle. He could hear the youngest panting, taking in long, heaving breaths to try and quell the sheer terror building up inside of him (for himself or Cas was a mystery). Cas once again cursed Metatron, for stealing his grace, and leaving the angel essentially defenceless.

The tears in his eyes were out of frustration as well as sorrow.

A soft thud caught his attention, as he saw Sam's back had hit the opposite wall, giving him nowhere else to turn to. No escape. No chance.

Like the Winchester he was, he stared the danger in the face. He looked at the knight with a look of fear, pleading and, worst of all, a hint of resignation. His eyes bore into that of the demons, as if trying to see past the hell and find the person within.

The person who just so happened to be his big brother.

"Dean…please. It's me, it's Sammy. Come on, man, _please. _You've kicked hell's ass before, I _know_ you can do it again. You have to _fight_ this! Please!" Sam choked out, his voice clogged with emotion. Normally, that tone mixed with the famous puppy dog eyes would be enough to turn Dean from a stoic badass into a doting mother hen, would remind him of the little boy who he'd raised, and would make him reconsider whatever he was doing that was clearly causing his baby brother distress.

However this wasn't normal.

This wasn't even **close** to normal.

Dean simply grinned. A twisted, fucked up version of his normal smile. "Sorry _Sammy_", the usually loving nickname sounding un-naturally cold, "but big brother aint home. No use crying for him." He pulled the first blade from his waistband, coal pits never leaving hazel eyes.

Castiel's struggles became more frantic. He could feel Dean's concentration on holding him slipping, all the energies focusing on Sam. His stolen grace would be enough to knock Dean out, but nowhere near the strength needed to heal even a paper cut, let alone a stab wound. Meaning that he had to move. And he had to move **now.**

He was drawn back to the fight (if it could even be called that. Murder was probably more accurate), where his eyes caught Sam's momentarily. Cas tried to convey **everything** that needed to be said, _that he was trying, that he wasn't giving up, that he was so __**so**__ sorry_. Somehow, the message had gotten through, as Sam returned the look with one of his own, the look that he normally used on victims that were being interviewed; _it's okay, I understand, I'm not angry_. He even managed that infuriating sad smile of his, confirming what they both already knew:

Sam Winchester was a dead man.

As if hearing their silent communication, Dean gripped Sam's left shoulder and roughly dragged the man in closer so his mouth was beside Sam's ear. And then he spoke two words in a harsh whisper that seemed to echo around the dungeon. Two words. Two small, twisted words that made Castiel's stomach drop impossibly further.

"Night Sam."

And with that, Dean stabbed his brother.

**A/N: DUN DUN DUN (i hope). If you're interested, then I'll be uploading the rest very soon. This will probably be about 2/3 chapters long. Feel free to leave me a review or a criticism, and again I apologise if this is terrible. Until next time...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Me again. *waves* Here's the next chapter. I'm going to warn you now: THERE IS DEATH. DEATH OCCURS. THIS IS NOT HAPPY. If any feels are damaged, I apologise. I also apologise for any spelling/grammar errors, since no one else has looked this over. **

**Warnings: DEATH. Also blood.**

For an agonising second, nothing happened. No one moved or spoke. The sound of his heart beating wildly was all Cas could make out.

Then all hell broke loose.

A sudden bang and a harsh, wet cough were enough to bring the angel out of his thoughts. Although he wished to hell that it hadn't. Cas' head whipped round in time to see Sam's knees give way, as he fell harshly to the concrete floor. Even without his grace at full, Cas was by the hunter's side in the blink of an eye, gripping his shoulders to prevent him toppling over. One of his hands left Sam's face in favour of lifting his chin up, so frantic blue eyes could meet fading brown ones.

Castiel didn't have to be a soldier to know a mortal wound when he saw one.

Sure, he'd seen people die before. He came from heaven for crying out loud, not to mention the fact that he was hardly innocent when it came to bloodshed. Yet out of all those losses, be they justified or not, the pain he felt then paled in comparison to what he felt now. The ache in his chest was so great, that he briefly thought that he had been stabbed too. If someone had told him all those years ago that he would weep for Sam Winchester, then he would've scoffed and walked on by. In the beginning, he'd made no attempt to hide his disgust or disinterest in "the abomination", allowing his prejudice for demons guide his thoughts.

However, as time went on, Castiel let his eyes be opened. From the Apocalypse to the Leviathan to the trials, and everything in between, the boy stopped being "Dean's little brother" and became "Sam Winchester": kind, caring, selfless and strong, with his sheer faith in others and his drive to carry on always managing to astound the angel.

Sam had went from being someone Cas treat no better than the ground upon his father's creation, to loving him like a younger brother (nowhere near as strong as Dean's love, but that would be an impossible feat).

Cas stared into the man's eyes, unsure of how to proceed. The ever logical part of his brain was telling him that there was nothing to be done, however the newly found Winchester inside of him was blocking that voice out. "Sam? Look at me…just, uh…stay with me okay? Everything'll be fine and uh… w-we can get you to a hospital and-"

"Cas. Stop"

The faint voice was enough to bring him out of his ramblings, as he paused and studied the human in front of him. Colour was rapidly draining from Sam's face, the dark shadows under his eyes making him seem weary and impossibly old; well beyond his 32 years. Blood was pouring out of his chest at an alarming rate, and each blink taking longer than the last. "This is it. I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't be stupid Sam, we can try-"

"Enough." Sam struggled to take a wheezing breath, before continuing "I'm done for, and we both know it." Another breath "Cas…you need to finish the cure. You need to save him." Of course, he didn't have to specify who he was, they were both painfully aware. "Please man, I..I'm begging you. You've got the vials of blood, the rest is up to you". Seeing the younger man's growing distress, Castiel moved him with the same gentleness one would give a new-born, until Sam was lying on his back with his head in the angel's lap, his face contorted with pain.

As a coughing fit shook him, he felt a hand wipe something sticky from the corner of his mouth, thinking for a moment that the tender touch belonged to his elder brother. In a way, it did.

"Sam, I.. I am so sorry. My grace, it's… I can't…"

"It's okay. You got nothing to apologise for Cas. You did what you could." Both men were at this point trying to stop the flow of tears that threatened to fall. Both were failing miserably. "Just...don't tell Dean what happened. It would destroy him."

Knowing that he was right, it took only a few moments for Castiel to agree.

"Thank you Cas. For _everything_" Sam managed in a soft whisper, emphasising the final word, hoping the angel knew just what the friendship they'd shared had meant to him. He needn't have worried, as Cas gave him a small smile in return.

"Thank _you_ Sam, it's been an honour."

Castiel could only watch on through his tears as Sam returned his smile, before his eyes fell shut for the final time.

**A/N: *hides* It hurt to kill of my favourite character. It really did.  
>There's probably going to be just 1 more chapter after this, but I may split it depending on the length. Thanks for reading, and again, feel free to review telling me if you liked it. See ya for the (possible) final chapter :3<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Me again, with a slightly longer chapter for y'all. You know the drill by now: sorry if it's bad, I haven't had this checked by anyone else, spelling mistakes are all my own bla bla bla. ON WITH THE FEELS!**

**Warning: Mentions of violence, blood and swearing**

**enjoy.**

To whoever said that silence is golden? Screw that guy. Normally, he avoided many busy and loud areas, preferring to sit in the tranquil company of nature, and admire his father's good work. Now though, Castiel would've given anything to destroy the silence. For all the anxiety and discomfort that noisy environments provided, they always helped to reassure him of something:

Life.

Whether there was talking, laughter, tears or yells, it would always signify that those people were alive, living and going about their daily mundane life. He'd never wished for noise so much.

The dungeon in the Men of Letter's bunker was silent, with the exception of two sets of breathing, and the noticeable absence of the third. Cas had no idea how long he'd been sat there, with one hand on Sam's forehead, and the other clutching the wound on his stomach; long enough for his legs to go numb, and for his eyes to have dried due to lack of tears at any rate.

His mind was racing, replaying Sam Winchester's final moments with a surprising amount of clarity. The trembling body, the rattling coughs, the pain-filled gaze that managed to hold such bravery and intensity at the same time. Not to mention his final wish:

"_Cas…you need to finish the cure. You need to save him."_

His eyes wandered to Dean, the other man still slumped over by the door, his breathing steady and sure. Cas knew that thanks to his limited grace, the demon wouldn't be defenceless for much longer, and would soon be awake and thirsting for blood once again. Knowing he didn't have the time to sit and mourn properly, he regretfully slid the hunter gently off his lap, and placed him with his arms on his chest, trying to make the wrong picture look as normal as possible. Slipping his worn trench coat from his shoulders, the angel covered the body so that only the legs were showing, hoping that if he couldn't see the face, he could pretend for a while that it wasn't another dead brother.

He glanced around the room, finding the necessary vials of blood needed for the spell, the long forgotten devil's trap and chair which formerly housed the king of hell, before finally looking at the room's other living occupant once more. With a new found determination, Castiel stood. Making his way over to Dean, there was only one thought on his mind

_Sam Winchester will not die in vain._

***page break***

He awoke to a pounding headache and a drained angel.

Biting back a groan, Dean looked at Castiel, confusion not allowing him to see the other man's exhaustion. Groggily, he cleared his throat before speaking in a croak "C-Cas? S'that you?"

He was greeted with a small, sad smile and the usual "Hello Dean" that he had become so used to over the years.

"Where…What's goin' on? What happened?" he questioned.

"We're in the bunker. It's alright." A hand appeared on his shoulder. "You've been saved."

"Oh." Letting out a breathless laugh, he let his head fall to his chest "He did it. The son of a bitch actually did it!" Speaking of, Dean was surprised that Cas was the first face he'd seen, and was wondering why he now didn't have his arms full of younger sibling right now. He looked back up, not quite seeing the haunted look on Castiel's face. "Where is Sam by the way? Has the princess gone to brush her hair or something?"

Cas opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. How does one go about telling someone that their reason for living was dead?

Big brother senses kicking in, the smile and teasing tone vanished, instead replaced by vulnerable worry. "…Cas? Where's Sammy, is he okay?"

"Dean… I…"

"TELL ME!"

Flinching away from the frantic voice, the angel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Dean. I-I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what? Dammit Cas, you better tell me what's happening or I swear to god I'll-"At the abrupt stop, Cas opened his eyes, feeling his heart sink all over again. He looked towards Dean, who in his worry had been scanning the room, trying to locate his kid, before he caught sight of Castiel's bloody coat covering what looked sickeningly familiar to a body. A sasquatch- sized body. Dread and bile rose up his throat "No. Nonononononono please. Tell me that's not my baby brother, Cas, please. Tell me that's not him!"

He turned back to the angel, hoping to god that this was just some cruel joke, and his brother was upstairs getting a drink and waiting to get his ass kicked for scaring him.

Looking into Cas' pitying gaze, that spark of hope died.

"Dean... I am so sorry"

"NO! LET ME GO CAS, RIGHT THIS SECOND."

Without protest, he felt ropes loosed and felt the bite of the handcuffs vanish. He was out of the chair in a flash, skidding beside what he hoped was all some terrible, fucked up nightmare. Not daring to believe his eyes, he pulled back the trench coat, and felt a harsh sob escape his throat. For there, lying stone cold in a pool of blood was the sight he'd hoped to never see again.

There was Sam. Dead

Unknowingly mimicking Castiel's earlier tenderness, he picked up the younger man until his top half was cradled in his arms. Bringing one hand up to cup Sam's cheek, Dean resisted the urge to recoil from the lack of warmth, instead pulling Sam closer until their foreheads were touching. "Sammy…" the broken whisper escaped on its own accord, before shifting his brother's head to Dean's shoulder, and moving his hand to grip the younger's shaggy hair.

He didn't realise he'd started slowly rocking, nor did he pay attention to the flood of tears. He certainly didn't notice Castiel, standing by the chair he'd been tied to wearing a guilt-ridden look of heartbreak.

**A/N: Please don't hurt me. I may add one more chapter to this (possibly a funeral pyre idk yet), but the main story is done. Please leave a review telling me what you thought, and again, please don't hurt me. Until we meet again...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: UPDATES! APOLOGIES! COMPLETION! Yeaaaaaah this is late. I had a rough idea about what was going to happen here, but then the last line just sorta came to me, so FEELS TIME. Sorry for any mistakes... I tried. Enjoy. **

_Samuel Winchester's story began by fire. It only seemed fitting that it ends the tale too._

Although he'd only met Sam when he was 27, Castiel had been watching the Winchester siblings ever since January 24th 1979. Ever since Mary and John became parents, he'd been there- watching, but never interfering… too much.

There were certain points, of course, that could not be altered. Azazel poisoning Sam, Mary's death, John's quest for revenge, Sam leaving for Stanford, Dean going to get him, Cold Oak, The deal, Ruby. All the things that were pre-written; the things that would begin the Apocalypse.

But every now and again, there were moments where Cas stepped in. Nothing too big. He'd help in defeating a creature once in a while, lessening the severity of an injury or sending out a guiding light in the dark. The Winchester's never knew what was going on. Well, most of them.

The angel was at first surprised to hear the prayers of the youngest, asking for a guarantee that his family would come home safe. Things that an eight year old boy shouldn't have to pray for. It pained Cas not to answer properly, especially given his job title: The Winchester's guardian.

_Some guardian. I've failed._

Standing in front of the pyre, Cas side-glanced at his companion, knowing that the feelings of failure and sorrow he felt must have been a mere fraction compared to what Dean was going through.

It had taken an hour for the man's tears to stop. It took even longer to get Dean to release his hold on Sam. Cas had tried, and the other had growled, as if daring the angel to take Sam away. Knowing that Dean was still trying to process what had happened, Cas had left the room and positioned himself outside the dungeon's entrance, trying to come to terms with everything himself. Sometime later, the door quietly swung open, and Cas looked up to see Dean, cradling his little brother to his chest. Meeting Cas' eyes briefly, Dean headed up towards the main part of the bunker, not bothering to check if he was being followed. No doubt it was a struggle to carry a 200 pound hunter, but Cas was smart enough to know that any offer to help would be met with cold hostility.

The pair made their way up to Sam's room, where Dean gently lay Sam on his bed, before leaving the room momentarily, returning with a wash cloth and water. From the door way, Cas observed Dean's robotic-like movements, as the younger cleaned and bandaged the wound as if Sam was just asleep. Once that was done, he sat down on the bed with his hip resting next to Sam's, and silently studied the younger man's face.

Both knew what came next, and both were prolonging the inevitable, but Cas knew what Dean was doing. As the ex-big brother began to brush his fingers through long, brown hair, Cas knew that Dean was memorising Sam's face, studying the features that he'd never see again.

Cas walked outside, to begin what he knew would haunt them both: Sam's funeral pyre. As he piled the wood, he began to panic, knowing all too well that once the shell shock passed, that Dean would attack him with questions, more specifically, one impossible question: _who killed him?_  
>Cas had sworn that he wouldn't tell the truth, but Dean was far from stupid, especially when it came to Sam. He <strong>had<strong> to come up with something, but what?

That had been half an hour ago, and Cas still didn't know what to say. He'd simply watched, as Dean had placed his brother on top of the wood with the same tenderness that he'd laid him on the bed. Dean had pressed a final kiss to the younger man's forehead, before wordlessly stepping back. He accepted the torch that had been given to him, and after a beat, had thrown the flame onto the pyre, his eyes never once leaving his kid.

The fire was burning fiercely, and was the only source of light in the moon-lit evening. A shaky inhale brought Castiel back, and he braced himself for the question.

"What happened?"

There it was. Dean's voice was hoarse from his silence and tears, but it was as strong and as determined as ever. Whatever had killed his younger brother was going to pay.

Silence met his question, and Dean tore his eyes away from Sa… the body, and looked at the angel, who had shut his eyes and breathing deeply. "Cas?" he prompted, impatience filling his tone "What happened?" Aware of the flames warming his body, he continued to look at his last living family member "Who killed him?"

Without looking at him, Cas spoke, hoping that he didn't sound as guilty as he felt "…A-A demon. A left over follower of Abaddon. It, uh, it attacked us. I managed to smite it, but not before…" he trailed off, knowing that he didn't need to finish his sentence.

He turned to Dean, who had returned his gaze to what was left of Sam. "I…I'm sorry Dean." There was no reply, no look of anger and betrayal, no accusing speech telling him that he should've tried harder. Dean simply nodded, bowed his head and walked back towards the bunker.

Cas stayed, knowing deep down that Dean knew what had really happened. The lie may have been based on truth, but with a lack of body and questions of how a demon would get passed the various warding, even Dean's grief wouldn't be enough to cloud his common sense. Besides, word concerning the brothers always managed to spread, and Castiel had no doubt that by this time next week, all of heaven and hell would know that the duo had been broken for good.

Cas stayed with the fires until dawn, when the embers had finally died, and Sam Winchester was well and truly gone.

The note and empty gun he'd found in Dean's room had been a terrible, yet unsurprising shock.

**The End**

**A/N: Please let me live. That's it for _You don't wanna know. _I promise the next thing I write will have nothing to do with demon Dean, and it'll be happy(er). I have a few ideas for an X-men story, so who knows? Sorry if anyone is OOC, or if there are any mistakes. I've tried to go through this and fix any errors, but I suck at spelling. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought. Until next time guys, take care :3**


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